Hands
by Salamanders
Summary: His primitive lifestyle was never his greatest feature, but maybe if he grew past that, he would finally find what he has been searching for all his life. In fact, it might have been in front of him this whole time... Oneshot. FuuxMugen. Some language.


**A/N: I haven't been on this site for a while, but I thought it would be nice to get back on here. There was a lot going on, this past month. One of my good friends died in a car accident in Rhode Island a few days after I last saw him and my cousin is in a treatment center because she tried to kill herself. Also there were some other things... all in all, death has been a recurring theme in my life, lately, and it was really taking a toll on my thoughts. I left here for a while, but to those that were following my other story, thank you for understanding. **

**Anyways, blahh... long novel of an Author's Note. I'm officially back. Here, have this oneshot.**

**This one is for you, Markell. R.I.P.**

The hands he knew best were the ones that cracked skulls, broke bones, ruined lives. Holding back was something foreign because where he came from, having morals could kill you. The same hands that would roughly stuff food to his face were the ones that slit the throat of any asshole that got in his way, but with silence and precision. Roaming the endless forests, the numerous cities - as long as they had a decent whorehouse - this man was used to the primitive lifestyle. It was the only one he knew.

The dirt, the sweat, all the blood and dead bodies, it was what he truly lived for. That high that would course through his veins every time he took the life of another stranger, it brought him to a whole other level of ecstasy. As for the strangers, they were just obstacles. Obstacles preventing him from reaching an unknown goal. Something that has been stuck with him all his life, but still remains unknown.

Then there was that girl. The pesky little brat he absolutely despised because of her big mouth and her flat chest. What the hell did she think she was doing, bossing him around and shit? He was the one that could crunch her neck into little bits with one hand, but for some reason he never did manage to lay a finger on her. If the thought ever occurred to him that he could finish her off and walk away from everything - from all of this - the only time he ever felt guilt would begin to creep its way into his bones.

Maybe he didn't actually want to leave. Maybe he liked the way she spoke out, the passion she put into every word while reprimanding his pervertedness. The confidence she carried was far superior to all the faceless whores he'd spent blurry nights with. This girl had a face, a beautiful one in fact. It was much more angelic when it wasn't covered in heavy makeup and ruined by countless years of being taken advantage. She was the purest, most innocent thing on the planet; ever since they met, he felt obligated to keep her that way as long as he said so. He had protected her for more than a year while journeying to find the one man she had been dreaming of all her life: her father.

However, there were always troubles along the way. Every time he turned his head even if for a moment, she would disappear, always being kidnapped by someone much more perverted than he. The poor girl spent nights in brothels, abandoned sheds, graveyards, everywhere. In all the bad situations the scrawny, brown-eyed girl managed to get herself into, he always came right when she needed him the most. He would bust through the door with blood on his face, wielding the pirate sword she came to know so well, giving his signature smirk to whomever dared laid a finger on what he considered his. The sword-wielding vagrant would always successfully slay the piece of shit who somehow managed to act lower than himself.

This fragile girl was the only one he could ever hold himself back for. The same hands that cracked skulls and broke bones were the ones that would tend to her wounds and hold her while she cried in her sleep, even though she never found out. The same man that shamelessly took so many lives - innocent or not - was able to hold back so much uncontrollable power for this naive, teenage girl only a few years younger than himself. He could never muster up the courage to tell her how he really thought he felt, but the closest he would ever come to saying "I love you" was saying "She's not yours" to the pig that tried to cop a feel in the bar.

She would probably never understand him when he would tell her she wasn't allowed to go to the store on her own, or why she always needed to be an arm's length away from him. While the girl would protest and call him a stupid jerk, the ex-pirate would continue doing what he did best: being an asshole. They would go back and forth like young children, even though he had just turned 20 and she, 17. He would treat her like a baby, but he couldn't help it. The only person that ever cared for him couldn't get whisked away by some smarmy douchebag, or by a pack of criminals. She needed to be near him so she could be protected, and even though she would never understand his true intentions, she always obeyed him in the end.

After traveling together for a whole year, her father was found. He was murdered shortly after his discovery, but that wasn't the girl's fault. For the first time, the death of a stranger wasn't the fault of the vagrant either. She was sad for a long time, and there was nothing he could do. Helping people heal, emotionally, wasn't something he had any experience in. All the nights they would spend laying under the stars - not too far apart - would be cut short by her recurring nightmares. Whenever they found enough money to spend on a good meal, she would never eat. All the times he tried to start a fight with her, there was never a rebuttal. The headstrong brat he knew was now becoming a lifeless being. Her confidence withered, her expressions: deadpan. If he didn't act soon, the girl that stood out so much against all the others would be drowned in the abyss of faceless women.

Then one night, when she was absolutely sure he was asleep, she arose from her sleeping mat on the ground and silently picked up his sword. It was heavier than she had anticipated. The ex-pirate made fighting seem light and effortless. These past few weeks, life and death were something she incessantly thought of. Her father always on her mind, as well. The teenage girl really thought she wanted to take her own life so she could finally be with the one man she always needed. Slowly walking away from her male companion, she unsheathed his sword and scanned it over while descending into the surrounding forest. So many people had unwillingly died because of this one hunk of metal, placed in the hands of a man with a very disturbed past. The same pirate sword that had been used to protect her and save her on numerous occasions was now the one she wanted to use against herself. Little did the girl know, the sword's owner was not even 20 feet away, lurking in the surrounding shadows. The light of the moon reflected off the blade when she held it out, pointing to her stomach. She started to cry, positive that she would actually go through with this. There was never a more frightening moment in her life than now, and she wanted it to all be over soon. Her mother was dead, her father was slain right before her eyes, and all she had left was some stupid pirate who always had better insults than her own.

Steel eyes widened as they looked across the shadows at the sobbing girl. When she thought he was already sleeping, she should have known he never sleeps, at least while she's around. As she raised the sword to point into her small body, his heart stopped. No. Never in his life had he run so quickly to push his own blade out of her dainty fingers before it could even tear through pink cloth. She shrieked after realizing she wasn't by herself to make this final decision. When did he get there? The sobbing only increased, and now it included every single name in the history of names for the bastard she stuck herself with for more than a year. He wasn't supposed to stop her. This was the one time she thought she could do something on her own without this stupid jerk watching her from the corner of his eye. She screamed at the top of her lungs. This wasn't fair.

Right before another whimper could escape her lips, he had buried them in his shoulder as he engulfed her small frame in an enormous hug. His body was so much larger than hers, and he never knew that until now. Making contact this close was something that never happened, ever. There was nothing he could say, except one word._ Don't_. Out of all the words he needed to say to her to express how deeply he felt, never made it out of his mouth. His vocabulary would never even touch on his passionate feelings for this one girl. He pulled away from her far enough to see the shock on her face, but not the sudden realization in her eyes._ Don't_. It was all he could say, but it was all she needed to hear for her to forget everything.

For once, she forgot about her mother, her father, all the hardships she had gone through even before she had encountered the stuck-up vagrant. She could smell the ocean in his mess of wild black hair, the sweat on his red baggy shirt, the subtle hint of sake on his breath. She could feel his arms tighten around her, his nose bury itself in her hair, and his heartbeat quicken. And that word, that one word he kept saying over and over. She pulled away from him to take in more of his rugged appearance that was really starting to grow on her, but he never gave her the chance.

A set of salty lips crashed into her puffy pink mouth, catching them both by surprise. There was so much time in the world for her to indulge in the warm embrace of the most feared man on Earth because time had stopped. They were the only two people in the middle of the forest for miles around. Nothing would interrupt the discovery of true love in its toughest form. Finally, after knowing this dumb broad for forever, the sword-wielding vagrant finally found what he was looking for.

The same rough hands that murdered samurai, beggars, and thieves were the only hands that held hers. Her small, soft, pale hands with faded pink nails were the only hands that would ever mend his physical and emotional wounds. There would always be scars to remind him of his past and she would always have an eternal sense of loneliness, but together, the teenage girl with big brown eyes and the ex-pirate with shaggy black hair managed to create their own kind of happiness.


End file.
